


Sea and Sorcery

by summers_honey_breath



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dialogue Heavy, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Humor, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-07 05:57:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18230849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summers_honey_breath/pseuds/summers_honey_breath
Summary: Former nobles turned pirate-admirals Sal Salinas and Minerva McGonagall share a colorful, troubled past, and have not seen each other in three years.  Yet when the war between the pirates and the British monarchy begins to escalate, fosterling and foster mother must begrudgingly unite their fleets and seek a way to end the conflict.“And what of my scar?”“Hats, Harry, love.  Hats.”“Hat’s aren’t a solution to everything, Sal.”“Sure they are.  Certainly in this case.”“What is it with you and hats these days?  Back at court, it was sashes, now it’s hats.  What is it about hats?”(Sexual times in chapter 5, cohesively written plot as yet unachieved)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PalacesAndPines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PalacesAndPines/gifts).



The warmth of night seeped in through the cracks and gaps in the walls and the tarp tacked over the window. Outside the moon was full, a pale disk suspended from the Stygian arch of the sky. Admiral Sal Salinas, the Nereid of Nassau, tossed and turned in her bed, belly sloshing with grog and Merlin knew what else. Rum. She needed more rum, not that watered-down swill Hagrid favored.  
Alas, there was none to be found in her cabin.  
Sal snatched up her beech wood wand and summoned a bottle, which she uncorked with relish. As she drank she realized—or perhaps remembered—that someone else was tangled up in her sheets.  
The woman in her bed stirred and opened one large, dark eye. “Ah, hello there…you,” said Sal.  
“It’s Narcissa,” said the woman, with some asperity.  
“Sorry, love. I’ve been properly marinated since midday. Did we pick you up in Port Royal?”  
“Close, Admiral. I’m a gunner on the Dog Star. We’ve met before.”  
“Oh! The captain’s cousin, then? Aren’t you married?”  
“My husband died at sea last year. You were on the ship.”  
“My sincerest condolences, dear Narcissa. Perhaps I shall sink a Navy ship in his honor.”  
“You already did. Several, in fact, with Captain Sirius.”  
Sal grinned, teeth like pearls, pristine in the gloaming. “You’re right! Oh, do wipe that sour look from your face, love. I’m still quite lashed.”  
“That I can see.”  
“Please, know that my memory’s usually better than this. Yes, I remember your husband, Lucius, your captain’s boatswain. And I know you and your son, Draco. Yes, it’s all coming back to me now. He’s just twenty, yes, just eight years my junior? Oh, he wouldn’t like this much at all, would he? Fancy a drink?”  
“To your health, Admiral.”  
“And to yours.”  
As Narcissa fell to dreaming, Sal burst out onto the deck, bottle in one hand, an orange in the other. “Merlin’s beard, you do know you’re supposed to peel it before you eat it, Sal,” said a voice by the ship’s railing. Hermione Granger, her first mate, came forth and sloughed off the fragrant rind. “Why on earth have you been drinking? You’re to meet with Admiral Minerva come sunrise. She’s never taken kindly to your antics.”  
“Not true, not true at all! She found them quite adorable when I was a child. In any case, I would hardly refer my penchant for drink as _antics_. Mother Min loves her rum as much as any other pirate.”  
“You haven’t seen your foster mother in three years. You may have forgotten your gentle breeding but I can assure you she has not.”  
Sal brandished her wand and upturned the now-empty rum bottle. “A disenchanted, disgraced noblewoman shouldn’t scold a fosterling who only followed in her footsteps. The Captain of the Dog Star did much the same, did he not?”  
“Sirius is still under the command of the Silver Fleet. _You_ left and took some of her best captains along with you. But not all of this is about you. Not everything is about you. There are the Deathly Hallows to think of. The fleets must unite if we’re to have at least a chance of finding them. There is a _war _going on, in case you’ve forgotten. How is it to end if we do nothing about it?”__  
Sal ruffled the dark, gleaming snakes of her hair and cast a gimlet eye at her first mate. Only Hermione ever spoke to her this way; she was the only member of the Laughing Tippler’s crew who wasn’t afraid to do so. Most days, Sal adored her for it. Most days, but not today. “We don’t even know if the Deathly Hallows are real!” she cried. “If this journey yields naught we’ll be the laughing stock of the pirate world.”  
“If we don’t embark on this journey we’ll likely end up _dead_.” Hermione waved her own wand, setting the dancing rum bottle on the planks. “Quite petty of you, to steal one of Sirius’s shipmates,” she said.  
“Nonsense, darling, utter nonsense,” said Sal, grasping at the change of subject. “I’m no kidnapper. I’m no rogue. Narcissa came here of her own volition. We’ve long since had our fun. She’ll return to her captain forthwith.”  
“You should go back to bed, Admiral. The hour is late.”

Wherever she went, Admiral Minerva McGonagall arrived like a shift in the weather, a storm or a sea-borne breeze as befit her mood. She was a woman as elegant as she was imperious, whose bouts of quiet rage—seldom though they were—instilled fear in all who knew her. Of all her foster children, Sal and Sirius had been her favorites, her darling protégées in the courts of England and Spain and later on the open waters of the Caribbean. The woman loved as fiercely as she censured. Sal dreaded her arrival as much as she craved it.  
“Alright?” said Hermione, adjusting Sal’s tightly-laced crimson vest and matching hair-ribbon. _Red is your color, my little beauty_ , her foster mother had said. _Wear it with pride_. Sal swatted Hermione’s hand. Minerva loathed fussing of any sort.  
“Am I bloody fucking alright?” she hissed through her teeth. “Of course not. She’s about to board. It’s a veiled insult, you know. She’ll never let me back onto _her_ ship.”  
“Deep breaths, Sal. You’ll be just fine.”  
A few minutes later Sal met Minerva at the gangplank. “Welcome to my ship, Admiral,” she said. “You look well.”  
“Hello, Salacia,” said the Admiral, ice in her tone. “The Laughing Tippler, is it? A charming name. Yes, how very charming.” At her side loomed Sirius the Black, tall and dark and devilishly handsome. Sal paid him no heed but grinned at his first mate, Harry.  
“Let us retire to my cabin and discuss terms, shall we?”  
“Hold a moment, little songbird.”  
Sal held her tongue. Minerva would not call her Admiral, for she did not consider her such.  
Her foster mother’s oval face was serene, the lines on her skin beautifully set, emphasizing the delicate features. Wisps of silver-strewn black hair fluttered in the wind. Her eyes were sharp and vibrant as she cast them about the ship. Minerva McGonagall was the Lady of the Seas, King George’s Bane. One had only to look upon her to know it. “Before we speak, I must insist on meeting and inspecting your crew,” she said.  
Sal fought back a wave of nausea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Pirate Cliches, Loosely Followed History n' More. How may I help you today?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goofy ship names and more pseudo-pirate bullshit, ahoy.

Hermione watched her admiral with growing unease. For all Sal’s swagger, the young witch was unpredictable when it came to her foster mother. Hermione, too, had been a noble of King George’s court and traveled with them on many occasions. Minerva was a stern, exacting woman, who rarely deigned to show affection. She was, moreover, quite impossible to please.  
Both Sal and Sirius adored her as much as they feared her. The former’s departure—what many considered a betrayal—had come as little surprise; Sal was a wild, free-spirited witch who never could stand cages or clipped wings. Indeed, Hermione was certain the admiral took pride in her fosterling’s adventurous spirit, for when Sal turned around and called to her crew there lay in Minerva’s eyes a fugitive tenderness.  
The admiral of the Silver Fleet knew most of the crew already; her insistence on examining them stemmed from a desire to see how Sal commanded. When the two women strode off, Sirius came to Hermione’s side, Harry just a few paces away. “Seems they’re getting on well,” he said, doffing his tricorn.  
Arms crossed, Hermione leaned back against the ship’s railing. “I’m surprised you’re still in Minerva’s good graces, considering last year’s rendezvous with Sal,” she said.  
“On the contrary, she’s been quite pleased with me. Your admiral and I made a considerable dent in the Navy’s fleet that day. There was little cause to complain.”  
“Have you only come over to ask me about your former comrades, Sirius? If that’s the case, I’d rather spend some time with Harry and find the Weasleys.”  
“Of course not, my dear.” He clapped her shoulder affectionately. “How are you?”  
“Focused on the war, if you must know.”  
“As are we all. As we all should be. But how _is_ Remus doing?”  
Hermione colored at the mention of the Wary Wolf’s captain. She was enamored of him, yet it seemed everyone but Remus himself knew it. “He’s well,” she said evenly. “Still as capable a captain as he was under Minerva’s command.”  
“Last night was a full moon, Hermione...”  
“I’m told he takes his wolfsbane without fail. As always.”  
“Good, good. That’s very good to hear. And White-Hair? How is he?”  
“Albie’s well as well. The Needless Death is in fine form and one of the Siren’s Fleet’s best ships, second only to the Tippler. And if you’re going to continue to inquire as to the wellbeing of our mutual friends, they are all just fine, I assure you.” Hermione risked a glance at Sal, who appeared quite rigid, her olive skin blanched. “Yes, all of them. Quite fine.”  
“She looks about ready to duel Minerva, doesn’t she?”  
“I should say so. She’s a remarkably powerful witch but Minerva…Well, she’s a legend. I shouldn’t like to see them come to blows, so to speak.”  
“Few can stand against my foster mother.”  
Hermione beckoned to Harry. “The calm before the storm?” said the young wizard. His unruly, jet-black hair was tied back but seemed about ready to escape its confines. Hermione flicked her wand to adjust his round spectacles, which lay askew, and tapped the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his brow.  
“Your scar isn’t hurting, so I should say not.”  
“You forget that my scar only hurts _during_ a storm. Bloody bastard, that Lord Riddle. To think that we were once at court with him! Remind me again why we let him live?”  
“Calm down, Harry. There’s nothing we can do about it now. He’s not our only enemy. Where is Ron? And the twins? Back on the Dog Star? I thought they might come aboard—”  
The stomp of boots across the ship secured their attention. “It’s time,” called Sal, a twist to her wine-red lips.

Minerva ensconced herself in one of the chairs before the desk, hands folded in her lap, Sirius behind her. Sal raised a hand and Hermione assumed a similar position. The office in her admiral’s cabin was rather spacious for two people. Not so for four.  
Thus the Nereid of Nassau and the Lady of the Seas assessed each other, their first mates prepared for whatever was to come. Minerva, ever the proper ex-noblewoman, scowled as Sal propped up her feet. Hermione, however, knew this wasn’t merely a careless, boorish act but a show of dominance. Her admiral’s boots were of the finest, painstakingly embroidered leather. Indeed, her blackwork linen blouse, vest, and tight, tan trousers, were the garments of a pirate queen. The crown upon her head was a tricorn adorned with a phoenix feather. She had done exceedingly well for herself— _without_ her foster mother.  
“Let us talk, Salacia,” said Minerva, swishing her wand. A scroll unfurled itself before Sal and Hermione. Sal quickly scanned it.  
“You want White-Hair, Remus, Tonks, and Red Bill back in your fleet and a _twenty-five percent_ cut of my plunder henceforth? Merlin’s bloody balls! Are you mad?”  
“’Tis only a fraction of what you owe me, my dear. Consider yourself fortunate.”  
“I don’t owe you anything.”  
“You owe her _everything_ ,” said Sirius, knuckles white on the back of Minerva’s chair. “ _We_ owe her everything.”  
“Enough,” said Minerva. “What of your terms, Salacia?”  
The Nereid magicked a scroll from her desk drawer.  
“You want Sirius? Whatever for?”  
“Not for personal reasons, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s the best captain in your fleet and my former partner. Together we could cleave the seas in twain. Besides, since you and I are forging an alliance, you’ll yet have unlimited access to him. Mostly unlimited. Look, I don’t want him on my bloody ship. I just want the Dog Star in my fleet.”  
“And do any of us captains have a say in this?”  
“Hush, Sirius. Salacia, child, you demand much. What makes you think I’ll agree to any of this?”  
“I know you hold the power in this exchange, my illustrious admiral. But you will agree because I ask nothing else and I will give you White-Hair and Red Bill. And ten percent of my plunder.”  
“Twenty.”  
“Fifteen.”  
“Agreed. Do let’s write up a contract and have done with all of this.”  
Sirius rounded the Lady’s chair. “Minerva, would you really command this of me?” he said, cool but deferential.  
“I would,” she said. “Harry, dear, go fetch Percy for me. We need a scribe and an impartial witness.”  
Hermione scurried after her friend, certain that foster mother and fosterlings desired a few words alone. As the door shut, she felt a ripple of magic muffle the sounds within. Sal’s doing, no doubt. “What do you make of all this, Hermione?” said Harry, leading her across the gangplank to the Cat’s Meow.  
“This will be a tenuous peace at best,” she said. "There is much to be resolved between those two but they’re both too stubborn for apologies and other such niceties.”  
“Do you know, my scar started to hurt in there? It’s bloody smarting at this point.”  
Hermione raised her eyes to the cloudless azure sky.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter with some exposition.

Sal sliced into the sea like a blade and the sounds of the world above became muted, heavy in her ears. Her body changed, limbs shifting, shrinking, nose and mouth elongating. For a moment human feet dragged her down, before stretching and thinning out to shape the last of her tail. As a marlin, she was sleek, swift as an arrow. Down and down she went, the clear, blue-green waters giving way to gloom. Beneath a ragged curve of wood was a chest, empty save a few Knuts. She ignored it and swam up and onward, shooting around and below the ships of the Siren’s Fleet.  
At six-and-ten, she’d mastered the transition, yet only in the past five years had being an Animagus proved useful. In this form, she could find wrecks, swim ahead of her fleet and locate enemy ships. In this form, she could carve out some time for herself, even if she and everyone else found her fish-body quite ridiculous.  
Yes, the Caribbean suited her far better than court life.  
Sal began to push lazily through the waters, her bill like the point of a compass. The sun was warm, the water silken on her scales. Schools of other fish whirled and wriggled past like so many jewel-bright leaves. Her ill humor subsided.  
The Silver Fleet was bound for Tortuga, the Siren’s for New Providence, both following leads on the Deathly Hallows. Minerva was consulting a map she had somehow “borrowed” from King Louis of France and would seek the Telescope. Sal, in search of the Mainsail, would call upon the mystic Sibyll. She had drawn the short end of the stick; her foster mother possessed of little patience for seers and soothsayers.  
Suddenly, a shaggy black mass plunged into the sea beside her. A button-like nose nudged her dorsal fin. She whacked it with her bill and swam for the surface, returning to her human form. The dog paddled over, licked her arm. “Hello, you mangy mutt,” she said. He licked her again. “What’s that? I’m afraid I can’t understand you, love. If you wish to speak, come aboard my ship. We’ve been sailing for over a week and you’ve said no more than ten words to me. My heart breaks.”  
Sal ascended the rope ladder and spilled onto the Tippler’s deck, clothes already baking dry in the sun. Sirius followed her to the ship’s stern. “Piracy still suits you, Sally,” he said.  
“Sally?” she said, affecting a bemused expression. “Sally. Hm. I’m afraid don’t know her but I’m sure you are correct. Rum?” A bottle came flying towards them. She yanked out the cork with her teeth.  
Sirius took a swig and pointed to the tattoos framed by her mostly undone blouse. Just below her cleavage was an upside-down triangle with an “R” blossoming from the right side—aqua regia, king’s water. Beneath it was a similar triangle, this one halved by a vertical line—aqua vitae, the water of life. “I’m surprised you kept those,” he said.  
“And why not? You’re an artist with a needle and ink. At any rate, I hear the removal spell is painful. Now listen here: we’re a few days from Nassau and I’ll have you, Mad-Eye, Remus, and Tonks aid me in finding Sibyll. Bring Harry if you like; I’ll certainly have Hermione at my back. Albie could only offer a vague indication as to Sybill’s previous whereabouts, so I’m expecting quite the search. I need the best of the best with me.”  
“White-Hair knows her?”  
“White-Hair knows everyone and everything. That’s why Minerva took him from me.”  
“If there was any taking, it was _you_ who initially ‘took’ him. But he’s not an object, Sally. He’s a man—and a good one at that. You do him a disservice by speaking of him so.”  
Sal gave Sirius a smile that had always been reserved for him: sultry and slightly mocking. It never failed to throw him off-kilter. “There is much at stake, Siri, love,” she said, fluttering her lashes. “You must forgive me a little uncouthness.”  
“Stop trying to charm me, she-devil. As you said, there’s much at stake. No time for these…trivialities. We should inform the others, should we not? Nassau is but a few days away.”  
“Quite right.”

Sal was wont to find bliss with Tonks between her legs, yet that night her mind could not cease racing. There was so much to do, so little certainty, and so many other vague cliches. She was out of her depth and certain everyone knew it. She’d not felt so self-conscious before Minerva’s arrival. “Is something wrong?” asked Tonks, pouting as she rested her chin on Sal’s pelvic bone. Her hair fell in peacock-blue ringlets around her slim, white shoulders.  
“Oh, just a mild existential crisis, love,” said the Nereid. “Nothing all that pressing. Come back up here and lay beside me. Let’s talk of idle things.”  
And so they did for a time until Tonks fell asleep in her arms and Sal was left once more to her thoughts.  
The Deathly Bloody Hallows! The fabled Compass, Mainsail, and Telescope. The stuff of bloody fucking legends.  
At present, there was far too much infighting in the already shambolic pirate world and little hope of forging alliances, let alone finding others who actually wished to take initiative. In this war of buccaneers and royals, King George had a particular vendetta against the former nobles of Houses Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw, who had fled to the seas in self-exile after years of political—and personal—disputes. Such were their allies. Yet it would not be enough.  
Sal, natural daughter of Baldomero Salinas, Duke of Mares, had been adopted into House Gryffindor along with Sirius, an orphan of House Slytherin to which Minerva had taken a shine. As a general rule, wherever she went they followed. Sal still did, in her own way.  
To be sure, her foster mother’s letter had not arrived unforeseen; both had lost several ships to the Royal Navy in less than a month. Sailing the seas alone was no longer a feasible option.  
_We must needs join forces and regroup, Salacia, child. There is no alternative. You know this._  
Merlin help them all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arr?

In 1717, King George extended pardons to any pirates who capitulated within the span of a year—all except for those of the Four Houses. Captain Woodes Rogers seized New Providence in 1718, ousting most of the pirate lords and ladies who considered it a base of operations. Now Royal Governor of the Bahamas, he ruled with an iron fist and showed no quarter to those who stood in his way.  
Hermione had seen Rogers but once: a stout man with a proud, pock-marked and powdered face. Sal, dressed as a highborn lady, had “seduced” him in an attempt to save Captain Lovegood from execution. Promising a seaside tryst, she proceeded to stab him in the leg, then levitate and cast him into the sea. Despite his unfortunate survival, Captain Lovegood, Sal, and their respective crews safely fled that very afternoon.  
That had been one of the few solo missions of Sal’s to bear fruit, earning her the partially ironic nickname the Nereid of Nassau; for she was beautiful and sea-loving but not often kind to those who stood in her way. A daughter of Poseidon—but not a sympathetic one.  
Hermione stepped out of the magic-borne rowboat and scuffed her boots in the sand. The spit of beach was small and secluded but she still felt exposed. “Strange to be back, is it not?” said Remus, hands stuffed in his tattered pockets. Hermione’s tanned cheeks went positively pink.  
“It’s only been two years and yet it feels like so much longer,” she said. “I must confess I’d rather not be here at all. If Sibyll was last seen here that doesn’t mean she remains. I read about her when I was a child. She’s an itinerant soul and reclusive withal.”  
“We shall find her, in due course. I’m certain of it.”  
“Remus, are you—are you well? You look hangdog.” Hermione flinched at her clumsy choice of words but Remus only chuckled.  
“I think we’re all rather weary, my dear. And this is only the beginning. Come, let us go speak with the others.”  
“We can’t just march straight into town,” Tonks was saying.  
“Aye, we most certainly cannot,” said Mad-Eye, adjusting his magically-disguised peg-leg, which now appeared to be a clubfoot.  
“I’m not saying we _all_ go, not with all of you dressed like that,” said Sal, fluffing her seafoam-green skirts. “Ah, Hermione! I have a most grand idea. You, Remus, Harry and I shall dress up as a little family. Hm. Well, you’re much too lovely…but still lithe enough to pass as an effeminate boy if we bind your breasts. With the right hat—”  
“Sal, you look hardly older than me or Harry. In fact, you _are_ hardly older and look nothing like us. You didn’t think this through until we got here, did you? Why must you always improvise?”  
The Admiral waved a dismissive hand. “As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, with the right hat we can conceal a good portion of your face.” She reached out to grasp Harry by the chin and examine him. “I’ll have a veil and a parasol, I have more than few hats in my bag, and neither Remus nor Harry are very well known around these parts.”  
“And what of my scar?”  
“Hats, Harry, love. Hats.”  
“Hat’s aren’t a solution to everything, Sal.”  
“Sure they are. Certainly in this case.”  
“What is it with you and hats these days? Back at court, it was sashes, now it’s hats. What is it about hats?”  
“It’s not exactly a grand plan,” Mad-Eye grumbled. “But at least it’s a plan. Markets are a cesspool of gossipmongers and we’re looking for a merchant. This Ian Morris, the last to see Sibyll. Two young sailors will be unassuming and most easily blend in with the crowds.”  
“Sal and I can play the part of man and wife well enough,” said Remus, eyes on Hermione.  
“Better than well enough. Fantastically, I should say.”  
“It could work,” said Sirius. “It _should_ work, so long as we play our cards right.”  
“Well, I’m with you, if you’re absolutely sure about this…” said Hermione, a hand on Sal’s arm.  
“I am."  
“Then we move by your leave, Admiral,” said Remus.  
“So Mad-Eye, my dear coz, and I shall take to the shadows and stay on the lookout for Rogers and his lackeys!” said Tonks, already changing her hair back to its unassuming, mousy brown. Sirius sighed and assumed his canine form. “Onward, Snuffles! Coming, Alastor?”

Nassau was pretty as a picture, abounding in tall, pastel-painted structures of pink and yellow and blue. Chief among them was the exquisite pink-and-white government house—not nearly as fine a building as those in Spain and England, but certainly the finest in all of New Providence. Before heading to the open-air market, Sal insisted on walking by at a snail’s pace, ever the impertinent pirate queen. Following that, Remus and Sal remained together while Harry and Hermione melted into the crowds.  
A pair of fishwives hawking their wares caught her attention first. Short and stout and middle-aged, they smiled as she approached. “‘Notha fine, young English sailor, eh?” said one. “And so pretty, too. What d’they call yeh, boy?”  
“Robert,” said Hermione, voice low and rough as she tipped her tricorn lower.  
“So, y’want fish or sometin’ else?” said the other.  
“As much mackerel as you’re willing to part with and information.”  
“And what d’yeh want to know, boy?”  
“Tell me all you know of Ian Morris.”  
Perspiring and encumbered with a slew of unnecessary purchases, it seemed hours before Hermione learned anything of use. But at long last, she tracked down the spice merchant’s son, a corny-faced youth of five-and-ten who was lingering outside a brothel. “Are you Jacob Morris, son of Ian?” she asked.  
“Maybe I am,” he drawled, eyes round. “But why in Merlin’s name are you disguised as a boy, lovely miss? What, one of the madams beat you a little too hard? Trying to run away? I won’t tell if you—”  
“I am neither a girl nor a whore, you insolent twit!” said Hermione, thumping him on the arm with a fish.  
“You sure sound like one to me, miss. A girl, that is. Oh, please don’t hit me again!”  
“‘Please don’t hit me again, _sir_.’ Just tell me where I can find your father and I’ll be on my merry way.”  
“My father? But he’s bound for Asia or Africa, miss—I mean, sir. Can’t rightly remember which one. Took to the seas just a fortnight past, though. Won’t be back for quite a while yet, I’m afraid. Say, why are you looking for him anyway? And just who are you?”  
“Why, no reason and no one at all.” Slipping a Galleon into his pocket, Hermione launched herself back into the swarms of humanity.  
She happened upon Sirius first. In the gloom of an alleyway, he shifted back into his human form. “Bad news, I take it?” he said.  
“Certainly not the best. Sal will want to hear about it.”

The Nereid of Nassau was not easily discouraged. “Remus and I learned that dear Rogers is hosting a masquerade on Saturday, so there is ample time to prepare,” she said, positively beaming. “All the important, puffed-up, and well-informed denizens in New Providence shall be attending. What luck!”  
“And how, exactly, are we to secure invitations?” Mad-Eye demanded gruffly. “They’re certain to have some sort of complex, magical seal. We’ll not break or take any without drawing notice. Rogers is a man most paranoid. Do you mean to tell me you’ve a chest full of Polyjuice Potion just lying around?”  
“Oh, _he_ is paranoid, Alastor? And, well, not exactly a chest. Just a few bottles. Now, if we incapacitate and later wipe the memories of a few expected guests we can—”  
“Hold a moment, Sally.”  
“I don’t know who you’re talking to, love, but what d’you have to say?” Sal removed her veil and sun hat, a mass of curls tumbling down her back, around her corset-raised breasts. Sirius, Tonks, and Harry gaped.  
Thus it was Remus who spoke next. “This plan promises to be far more elaborate than the last. We cannot think on our feet, Admiral. This requires a deft touch, the hands of more than one. As I’m sure you know well.”  
“The cloaking spells on the Tippler and the rowboats will hold, so long as no one sees fit to investigate our presence here,” said Hermione, latching on. “Let us convene at the Ancient Mariner. No point standing around on the beach for all to see.”  
Sal shouldered her bag, wand in hand. “Quite right, Hermi, love. I’ve my heart set on a tankard or two. Drinks are on me, everyone!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, bonking and digressing from an only partially-realized plot, ahoy.

Sal quaffed her sixth or seventh ale and wiped the sweat from her brow. All were assembled before a small writing desk, Sirius and Hermione flanking her. The former, no doubt sensing her disquietude, had set a hand on her shoulder. It was allowed.  
The latter clutched a stone casket in her fist. “We oughtn’t to keep her waiting,” she said, flicking open the lid. Inside was a mound of powder-soft sand, which rather looked like the fun kind of powder to which Sal and much of her crew were partial. Alas, it was only sand.  
“It only really needs to be a few words,” said Tonks.  
Sal cast the sand a look of dispassion and poised her ink-dipped quill above a sheaf of parchment. “Mother Min’s instructions were clear,” she said and wrote the date. “She requires a full report every day. Far be it from me to go against her wishes.”  
“If I know her—and I do—she’ll not take kindly to any sort of delay,” said Remus.  
“Better to just get on with it, Admiral,” said Mad-Eye, popping out his magical glass eye to clean it.  
Harry, who was closest to him, gagged a little. “The—” He swallowed another gag as Mad-Eye shoved the bright blue sphere back into its socket. “The sooner we get this done the sooner we can set about planning what’s next.”  
_My Dearest Admiral_ , Sal wrote in their magically-wrought code. _Per your request, I write to inform you of our progress here in Nassau_. “Yet there is the rub, is it not? We haven’t actually made any progress.”  
“Get on with it.” 

_The merchant to which Albie referred us is off trading overseas and shall not return for some time. Now, before you respond with a Howler lambasting our collective incompetence—or simply mine, if that is your desire—know that we seek to learn more from Woodes Rogers, albeit by (hopefully) somewhat indirect means. To wit, he is hosting a grand masquerade in a few days time, which we aim to infiltrate. You will be glad to know that we shall avail ourselves of whatever we might learn and keep you informed. Wish us luck._  
 _Sincerely_ ,  
_Your Fellow Admiral_

“That seems excessively sarcastic,” said Hermione, scattering sand on the parchment. Once the ink had dried, Sal tucked the letter into an envelope, tipped a candle over it, and pressed her signet ring into the puddle of wax—a dolphin haurient, crowned with three stars. The sigil of House Salinas, though it was not hers to claim. Minerva’s last gift to her.  
“Good, then there shall be no doubt as to who sent it,” she said. “Pleione?” Sal’s parrot, an ornery thing who spent most of her time on the Tippler’s mast, squawked and hopped onto her mistress’s arm. “There you are, old girl.” In a wave of vibrant feathers, the bird flew out the window into the dusk.   
Sal’s companions began to quit the room until only Sirius was left, quiet and brooding with an ale by the empty fireplace. “She misses you, you know,” he said. “She’d never admit it—and I’m not certain she’s forgiven you—but she does miss you. I do too. Or I did.” His long, tattooed fingers blanched around his tankard. “But by Merlin, you’ve somehow become infuriating. Never really planning, always acting without offering even a hint as to what you’re up to. How do your men and women stand by you when all you do is lead them around blindly? You have Hermione keep them in line, is that it? Instead of making her a captain in her own right she’s forced to lug around half your weight. She deserves better. Far better.”  
“You are deriving all of this from what you’ve seen in the past fortnight,” said Sal, striding over to him. “My men and women stand by me because I’m as good an admiral as Minerva or anybody else. Not better but certainly just as capable. This you should not doubt. But you’ve not…you’ve not seen me when she’s _not_ around, Sirius. What she does to me I cannot even begin to explain. Seeing her again, I feel like a child once more. I feel the desperate need to please her, even though I know that I cannot, even though I know that all efforts will prove to be in vain. Do not speak to me of guilt—I _do_ feel it even now, despite what you may think. But I do not regret my choice to leave. And as for Hermione, well…I suppose you may be right about that. Perhaps I have been both smothering and subduing her, as Minerva did me. Oh, do let go of me, please. I don’t need to be bloody held. I would prefer it if you wouldn’t treat me as though you still want or care for me.”  
“As ever, casting about for validation. You know I still care for you, Sally. You make my blood boil but I’ll always adore you, even though you prattle on incessantly when drunk.”  
“I’m not drunk. I’m indignant.”  
“Semantics. But don’t you treat me as though you still want or care for me when you’ve been fucking all of my cousins. Why does it have to be my cousins? You could have anyone you want—anyone at all—and you choose my family members?”  
“Not all of your cousins, Siri, love! Just Tonks, Narcissa…and, oh, Bellatrix that one time at Greenwich Palace. Not my finest hour, that…”  
“ _Bellatrix_? You slept with _Lady Bellatrix Lestrange_ , the woman who attempted regicide with Lord Riddle?”  
“And lived to tell the tale!”  
“You’ve gone round the bend, Sally. You are absolutely, thoroughly raving mad.”  
“It’s the mad ones who make the finest bedfellows.”  
Sirius lifted her hands from the laces of his britches and held them to his chest. “If you truly want me, I ask that you stop fucking my cousins. Will you do that?”  
“If you’re going to be like that? Well, no. You do not get to decide what I do or who I fuck. Which begs the question: do you truly want _me_?” Her kiss was brief but held no dearth of passion. “And do you…” Another kiss, her tongue against his mouth. “Not have your own share of dalliances?” Her cheek nuzzled his bearded jaw. “I would not hold it against you. In fact, I quite like the idea of you taking others to bed. I’m imagining all manner of indecent things. Horribly indecent.”  
“It’s just like you to go from distraught to hostile and hostile to lecherous. What a strange woman you are.”  
“I know you and Remus were lovers for a brief time, long ago. ’Tis a shame he’s besotted with Hermione—and a bit of a prude—or I’d ask you both to my bed. What d’you think of that?”  
“I cannot say the idea of being intimate with you and my best friend—with whom my relationship is now strictly chaste and platonic—is all that appealing.”  
“There is obviously _something_ that appeals to you, love.”  
“A natural reaction for any man with someone forearm-deep in his britches.”  
“Well and so.”  
Sal did not cease caressing, nor did he ask that she do so. For her hand was warm and her fingers adept, sleek and silken with spittle along his shaft. She adored him like this: feverish and biddable, looking at her as though he feared to touch yet yearned to claim her. A passion most animalistic—only reined in because she willed it.  
On her knees, she lay hold of him with her lips, stipulated silence with eyes keen and dark. His fingers tore through her unbound hair as her throat relaxed to take him in further. By and by, he spent himself in and across her mouth, down her chin. He seemed unable to keep himself from kissing her, sluicing down, scraping at her face with lips and tongue and teeth.  
Sal arose and wound her arms about his waist. “I do so love to drive you mad,” she said, laughing as Sirius picked her up and tossed her onto the bed.  
When time and body permitted, he pushed slowly into her, her clothes having been magicked away—a frivolous use of power, but one they so often employed. A well-endowed man, he filled her to capacity, stretching deep and wide the supple flesh, which allowed them to be as one. His scrutiny, so tender and raw, imbued itself in her moans and every movement, called forth a sense of vulnerability that stood to make her weep. Three years apart had never felt so long until now.   
At last, pleasure reached its pinnacle and came rushing, tumbling down, a force that broke and shook them like tremors in the earth. Thereafter drowsiness consumed them, and they fell asleep, still joined, softly smiling and content.


End file.
